I looked at him, and I saw myself
by The Deadly Nadder
Summary: Night Fury. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. This thing never stole food, never showed itself, and never missed. No one had ever managed to kill a Night Fury. That was why Hiccup would be the first.


_**Hi everyone :)**_

_**It's been quite a long time since I last published something... Here is an OS based on the first HTTYD movie. It may be quite surprising, though I hope you'll like it.**_

_**Thanks a lot to cashewkitty who beta-read it.**_

_**Oh and be careful with the last scene, it contains blood and quite violent descriptions.**_

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><p><strong>I looked at him… and I saw myself.<strong>

"NIGHT FURY!"

"GET DOWN!"

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, the third, immediately dropped the sword he was sharpening and rushed toward the window of the forge. The villagers were all running to shelter behind whatever they could find; the more exposed ones gave up any chance of escape, hoping their shield would offer them enough protection. But the young Viking didn't try to hide, and even looked out through the window, attentively listening to the whistling preceding the typical plasma blast of Night Furies. In fact, he had spotted it even before the first Viking had given the alert. It was the only noise he was always on the look-out for, because this noise meant he would have another chance to prove himself.

Hiccup stared at the sky and waited. The whistling got louder. And the dragon struck.

One shot. And a whole catapult destroyed. The young Viking didn't even blink despite the violent light flashing in the sky. He looked at the explosion, fascinated, and admired the flames swallowing the wood of the observation tower, obliging the Vikings – including his father – to jump from it.

He knew the beast would come back within a few minutes. He had to go out. As always, when such an opportunity was offered to him, the voice of his father resounded in his ears, strengthening his determination.

_Your ancestor, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the First, was a brave, strong, and valiant Viking. He was an only son, and knew he had an important responsibility, so he was doing his best to one day be worthy of succeeding his father as chief of the tribe. Vikings were already killing dragons, and each chief could boast that he had killed at least one reptile among the most fearsome ones. Hiccup's grandfather had struck down a Timberjack, and his father a Whispering Death. And even though he had already greatly proved himself – he had shot down two Monstrous Nightmares and one Zippleback – Hiccup didn't intend to feel satisfied. He absolutely had to kill a dragon even more ferocious if he was to become the chief of the village. And he had chosen that dragon as soon as he heard about it._

"Man the fort, Hiccup! They need me out there." ordered Gobber, interrupting the Viking's thoughts.

The teenager looked at the blacksmith, quickly changing his prosthesis, then leaving, addressing Hiccup a last "Stay here". He listened to the warlike shout until he disappeared in the chaos of the attack, and then shook his head. He shouldn't turn away from his objective. The Night Fury. His new machine had been ready for a few days now; he couldn't miss such a good opportunity. Too bad for Gobber, too bad for the forge and too bad for the weapons waiting to be fixed and sharpened. He caught his catapult and pushed it outside with an energy and determination that made him forget about the considerable weight of the machine.

"Hiccup?! For Odin's sake, what are you doing? Come back right now!" Gobber shouted when he saw him running away once more.

But his father's voice in his head covered the blacksmith's calling. He ran without stopping, pushing the catapult as fast as he could. The dragon would come back. It had to come back.

_A Night Fury. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. No one had ever engaged this dragon. No one had been able to, and no one had tried. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock wanted to be the first. And one day, during a night raid, he managed to shoot one with a catapult. He thought his moment of glory had finally come. Proud of himself, he went to the beach, where the dragon had fallen. But the reptile was still alive, and jumped down his throat, gashing his body with its claws. It pulled his heart out, and flew away, leaving his dead body behind._

The whistling noise resounded again. The beast was coming back. It struck the same tower a second time, making it collapse. Hiccup stopped running for a few seconds, trying to make the dragon out as the orange gleam of the flames lit the sky. But he barely saw a shadow.

He started running again to an isolated place behind the village, where the dark would allow him to correctly aim at the black dragon. He put his machine on the ground, set off some mechanisms, grabbed the start-up handles and put his eye on the sight.

And he waited, concentrated, unconsciously holding his breath.

_You have the name of the first man who saw a Night Fury with his own eyes. But you, you won't let it kill you. You will rip its heart out before. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the first didn't deserve to die; none of us deserves to die. No one has ever come so close to killing a Night Fury. And you will be the next one, my son. You will become the greatest and the most respected dragon killer._

This last sentence resounded in his head, and got louder when he heard a third whistling. This time, this time for sure, Hiccup thought. He screwed up his eyes, ready to shoot as soon as the monster would show either of its scales. It wouldn't be easy, but he could do it. He had to.

This thing never stole food, never showed itself, and never missed. No one had ever killed a Night Fury. And Hiccup would be the first.

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><p>"Crap, Helena, go get Nohri! Quick!"<p>

The young lady didn't need to be told twice, and immediately ran through the forest to return to the village. She arrived directly in front of the chief's house, and energetically knocked. He opened the door a few seconds after. The woman didn't give him the time to speak.

"Your son, Hiccup, he… we just found him, in the woods. He's wounded."

Nohri opened his eyes wide.

"Is it serious?" he asked.

"I… Yes."

The chief immediately grabbed his helmet, and followed Helena in the woods, to the glade where the massacre had taken place. The Viking saw the small body of his son, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Second, lying on the ground, covered with blood. He ran toward him and held him between his hands, desperately looking for any sign of life.

"We heard a scream, so we came." the man who was with Helena explained. "We found him like this."

Nohri pulled up the blood soaked clothes of his son. They clung on his skin. He discovered a serious gash on the boy's chest. Way too serious. He still put his ear on it. All he heard was the silence of his dead heart. There wasn't anything to do anymore. He ran a hand through the blond hair of his son. He was so young.

"We saw a dragon flying away when we arrived." Helena added. "He must have attacked him, the poor child only had a dagger to defend himself."

Saying this, the woman bent down to pick up the aforesaid weapon, and gave it to the chief.

"Why is it covered with blood then?" he asked.

"We guess that your son still had time to hit the dragon before it killed him." the man answered. "But apparently it wasn't enough, since the dragon still managed to run away."

"What dragon was it?" Nohri questioned.

"I'm almost sure it was a Night Fury." Helena answered.

A Night Fury. The chief repeated that word in his head several times. He imagined the animal suddenly attacking his son. His little Hiccup must have been terrified. And the dragon had gashed his chest.

Gashed his chest.

Gashed… The chief observed the wound closer. The cut was astonishingly clear. Too clear to have been caused by a scratch or a bite. It more looked like… a gash made by a sword.

A dagger.

The chief's gaze went successively from his son's weapon to his wound, several times. Then he shook his head. He was thinking too much.

"Where did it go?" he asked to Helena.

The woman exchanged a look with the other Vikings, and then answered, "Raven point. I think."

"If it's wounded, it certainly left traces. Go back to the village with Hiccup and tell the Elder to take care of him, we will organize his… funeral when I'm back."

The chief stopped talking. Took a deep breath. He shouldn't let anything appear on his face in front of the other villagers.

"Tell about ten Vikings that we are going after this monster."

Helena nodded, but seemed to hesitate.

"Chief, you do know you're starting an already lost fight…" she finally said. "You just have to see what that… monster… did to your son, it…"

"We've been fighting dragons for centuries. One of them just attacked my family, do you really think I'm not going to react?"

He had upped the tone. Helena looked down.

"I… I'll send you some villagers." she murmured.

She bent down on Hiccup's body, lifted him, and walked back to the village.

"Right. You search for any sign of the beast." the chief ordered to the other Viking. "Blood, broken branches, anything."

The man quietly nodded and started to walk through the woods.

Nohri allowed himself to take few seconds, and sat on the ground, his impassive facade suddenly disappearing. His son, his only son… He was only eight years old. And he was already gone. That was so unfair.

Hiccup… He had named him in tribute to Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the first, the only Viking who had ever seen a Night Fury with his own eyes. Right before he was killed, too. Nohri wondered if it was possible he had sentenced his son by naming him Hiccup. Maybe all the Hiccup Horrendous Haddock were meant to die disemboweled by a Night Fury…

It was stupid. He didn't believe in such maledictions.

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><p>"Be careful, son."<p>

"You too." the young Viking answered, nodding.

He gave his parents a last look, and then they all simultaneously crossed their doorway and each went in one direction.

The village was buzzing; each Viking was accomplishing the task he had been entrusted with; controlling the catapults, watching the sheep, protecting the youngest children reunited in the Great Hall, … Everyone was busy, and soon the Viking joined the action. He ran to the main observation point, the highest of the village, and took over at the controls of the catapult. Two other men were there to help him; the three of them had to locate the flying dragons and thwart them before they could reach the village.

Things started quite quickly that day. The dragons were usually arriving in small groups, kind of like scouts, and then it could take a while before the big numbers started attacking. But that night, the reptiles immediately showed up in groups of twenty, considerably increasing the panic always reigning during these surprise raids.

The Viking shot down several dragons, particularly Gronckles, which flew less fast but could be way more dangerous in closer fights. Some Deadly Nadders too. As he was almost mechanically drilling to throw rocks on the flying reptiles, the Viking was carefully watching the dark sky, hoping to spot one particular dragon, which was always attacking during night raids, its black color and its speed making it almost completely invisible.

Since his birth, the main aim of the Viking was to kill dragons, and the search for glory in this world consisted in overpowering more and more dangerous dragons. He had already shot down several Nadders and Gronckles, and even two Monstrous Nightmares. A Zippleback too, once. But he would feel worthy of his father only once he'd kill a Night Fury. He wanted to be better than him, who had captured and killed a Whispering Death, before he'd become chief. Because no one had ever killed a Night Fury. And he wanted to be the first.

And that night was his night. The mysterious dragon showed up. Increasing in attention, the Viking forgot about the other dragons approaching to concentrate on the black sky. The Fury struck once. Twice. And the third time, the young man decided to shoot. He took advantage of the brief flash of light, and managed to aim right when the beast was flying through it. The only moment when it was more or less visible in fact. He shot without thinking.

And touched it. He was almost certain of that; he had seen his projectile hit the animal in its flight. He victoriously shouted.

"Hey, what's happening to you?" one of the men assisting him asked. "Be careful, other dragons are coming."

He pointed to a group of Nadders flying in the field of fire of the catapult.

"Wake up!" the second one yelled.

"You didn't see anything?" the young man asked, only thinking about his Night Fury.

"See what?"

"The Night Fury. I had it."

"I don't think so." one of the men retorted. "And even if you had, it wouldn't even be wounded; it would have already flown away."

The Viking refused to believe this. He was sure he had shot it down. He needed to check this out, on the beach below, to see if the dragon hadn't crashed down there. He left his post despite the protests of his colleagues, and quickly went down, weaving through the half-burnt houses.

He finally got to the aforementioned beach. It was plunged into darkness, since the cliff was blocking out the burning glow of the village. And it seemed empty.

Still refusing to admit defeat so easily, the Viking wisely took a step forward, scanning the surroundings. He found his way thanks to the backwash of the ocean, and walked along the seaside, searching for anything abnormal. And he finally found what he was looking for.

Behind a heap of rocks, a huge frame was lying down, unconscious. He went closer, holding his knife carefully. The dragon was slowly breathing. It wasn't dead, only knocked out. But he would change this.

He made sure he was correctly positioned, so that he wouldn't fail. His weapon was too small, but he didn't want to go back to the village for another one; the dragon could wake up at any moment and fly away. And that was also why he had to make sure his hit would be fatal. He couldn't strike at random, he might wake up the beast and it would kill him immediately. He didn't really know the abilities of Night Furies at hand-to-hand fights, though he knew their strength was impressive enough to not count on potential weaknesses.

So, the Viking carefully worked out his angle of attack, took a deep breath, and struck.

It was easier than what he had thought. He put all his strength in it, resting the weight of his body on the small knife, which entered through the scales of the animal. The dragon seemed to wake up the moment he touched him, but the second after, it was unconscious again. The Viking then knew he had aimed accurately. He had pierced through the Night Fury's heart at the first attempt. He still stuck his weapon again into the stomach of the beast, several times, just to make sure it was completely dead. He took a great delight in feeling the warm blood flowing between his fingers. The blood of his victory.

The dragon had given its last breath, and was now lying on the ground, totally lifeless.

The Viking thought. He could either leave the corpse here, and directly go and tell his father, or sever the head or pull out the heart of the dragon to proudly take it to the village as a proof. His inordinate pride drove him to choose the second option. He pushed the Fury's corpse with his foot, and started to enlarge the first cut he had made in the dragon's chest. The reptile's skin was quite thick, and he had to insist several times to clear the vital organ. He finally plunged his hand inside the dragon's body, and groped around for its heart. Soon enough, he found a flabby but firm mass, and grabbed it. Using his knife, he broke the last connections between the organ and its owner, and proudly brandished his trophy.

He stood up, feeling more powerful than ever, and began to walk back to the village.

And his head started spinning. Thinking it was just a dizzy spell, he stopped for a few seconds and closed his eyes, waiting for it to go. But when he reopened his eyelids, he was lying on the ground. And he wasn't controlling his own body anymore; it was shaking with convulsions. Groans were coming from his half-opened mouth. He knew he was suffering, but strangely, he wasn't really feeling the pain. He looked at his hand, in front of him, still holding the heart, red blood flowing out of it. Really red. Too red. It was dark, he wasn't supposed to see such vivid colors. He blinked. And the world suddenly became bright. But it wasn't shining the same way as during the day.

A more violent spasm raised his body. His head was horribly resounding. He wanted to hit it against the ground. He grabbed his hair with his fingers. Pulled it. And found himself with it in his hands. Panicking, he tried again. And pulled out almost all of it.

At the same time, his skin had started to puff up. His armor suddenly felt very tight. Without thinking, he removed it. The metal tore in a surprisingly easy way between his hands.

And once he was completely naked, he finally understood what was happening to him. Indeed, he noticed that little black scaled patches were slowly covering his skin, starting by the tips of his body. His hands. His feet. His nose. His head. His nails had got black too, and had grown all at once, curving in claws. A tail had pierced through his skin, on the lower part of his back. It was growing incredibly fast, and soon it reached the same size as his body. Small fins grew on each side of that new limb.

The Viking knew what would be the next step. He bent down, and felt two painful twinges on each side of his backbone. With a moan turning into a deep and low rattle, two wings pierced through his skin, and unfurled in the night. Running his tongue inside his mouth, he noticed that he hadn't teeth anymore. But the moment that thought crossed his mind, he felt them piercing his gum. He tried to do it again. And it worked. He had retractable teeth.

He gave a quick look at the Night Fury's body, which was already in an advanced state of decomposition, according to its size, half of what it had been a few minutes before. But he smelt something abnormal. He got closer.

And found himself in front of his own corpse. The body of the Viking he had been.

He didn't have time to feel horrified in any way, nor to wonder what had exactly happened. His mind gave him the answers. He knew everything, and wasn't even surprised.

Then, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, the first, left his human corpse behind him on the beach and flew away.

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><p><strong><em>Reviews are welcome :)<em>**


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